The Pamphlet
by SchuylerSister16
Summary: Some things shouldn't be published. Those closest to Hamilton already knew, but they can't believe their eyes when they read a document that destroys lives and breaks hearts: The Reynolds Pamphlet. [One-Shot]


August 1797

 _Philip Hamilton, Age 15_

Something was amiss.

He didn't know how to explain it, but as he walked through the streets of Trenton on a sultry day in August with his little brother Alex, he suddenly felt very…exposed. As if he was standing on a stage with hundreds of eyes fixated on his every move. Two women Philip had met in passing one day strolled by and began to whisper to each other behind gloved hands at the sight of the two Hamilton boys. Philip distinctly heard his father's name as they passed.

Something was _definitely_ amiss.

Fortunately, 11-year-old Alex didn't seem to notice. He was too preoccupied by the sights of Trenton, eager to spend time away from their boarding school. They passed a few friends of William Frazer (their instructor at school) and both boys said hello politely. The friends greeted them, but did not stop to chat, instead they gave the boys sympathetic looks and continued on their way, whispering something about a pamphlet.

At this, Philip's stomach did a brief somersault. His father wrote scores of pamphlets that were both ridiculed and admired in equal measure.

"Phil, why does everyone keep whispering about us?" Alex began to pick up on the fact that every acquaintance they passed gave them smiles laced with sympathy and whispers immediately followed.

"I haven't the foggiest, Alex," Philip sighed, running a few fingers through his hair. "I think we'd better go back to the school." Alex whined a bit but stopped when a friend of his avoided his greeting and hurriedly crossed the street.

Heat crept onto Philip's cheeks as they hurriedly walked back to the school, feeling every eye in Trenton upon them and whispers following in their wake. Alex looked miserable, his face damp from the heat of mid-afternoon and embarrassment. Both just wanted to find out what the trouble was. And as they passed a print shop, just a block from the school, Philip saw something in the window.

 _Observations on Certain Documents_ was the main title of a rather large pamphlet authored by his father, Alexander. Philip vaguely remembered something peeving his father earlier in the year, a pamphlet of some sort. Something had been amiss, and his father had been mad. And when his father got mad, a lot of writing was sure to follow. After all, refuting other people's pamphlets was what his father did best. So…what exactly needed to be refuted?

Philip hesitated. He'd never read that pamphlet of his father's before. It must've been new. "Wait here, Alex. I just need to run in and…get something."

 _Angelica Hamilton, Age 13_

"Und, deux, trois, quatre…" Angelica (or Angie, as she liked to be called) normally loved practicing at the piano, but something seemed wrong. Auntie Angelica had burst in the door twenty minutes ago with what looked like a newspaper or a pamphlet in her hand. Normally excited to talk to her namesake niece, she brushed Angie off and went straight into the house to find her sister, who was busy nursing the new baby William.

Normally the Hamilton household was a hive of activity, with Angie and her two brothers always playing or making a ruckus. But that day the house was a silent tomb, and it seemed to Angie that even her soft piano practicing seemed out of place amongst the silence.

"You've married an Icarus!" Angie nearly fell off the piano stool at her aunt's loud shout that rang through the house. "He has flown too near to the sun!" _Auntie isn't normally so cross,_ Angie thought, bending over to pick up the sheet music she'd knocked off the piano. _And is she talking about…dad?_

The sound of someone crying started to echo through the house, and it wasn't baby William. Angie felt sick inside when she realized it was her mother. _I hope mom's okay,_ she thought to herself, her stomach pitching as another loud sob rang through the house. Tiptoeing as if on eggshells, she crept to her mother's room and pushed the door open.

William was asleep in his new crib, oblivious to the sad scene unfolding around him. Auntie Angelica was holding Eliza. Both were sobbing, but Angelica looked very angry at something…or someone.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Angie started to wring the front of her skirt in her hands, something she always did when she was nervous or upset. "Mom?"

Auntie Angelica composed herself and flashed her niece a fake smile. "Sweetie, why don't you go practice piano some more?" Angie could hear the patter of footsteps that signaled her little brothers, 9-year-old James and 5-year-old John, coming to investigate.

"Okay." Without a second thought, she quickly shut the door and shooed her brothers away. Something was wrong, but they didn't need to know about it. _But what could be wrong?_ She wondered to herself. Fear shot through her, what if something had happened to Alex or Phil at boarding school? But as she climbed the stairs to her brother's bedroom, she realized they would've received a letter, and her aunt wouldn't have been the one bringing the news.

"Angie, what wrong with mommy?" James had begun to chew on his nails, a nervous habit her mother had been trying to break for ages. "Is she okay?"

"I think she's just a little tired," Angie lied. Her brothers accepted this answer. She did not.

 _Alex Hamilton, Age 11_

"Can I read that pamphlet when you're done?" Alex didn't understand why his older brother had the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he set down the pamphlet on his unmade bed. Phil _never_ cried.

"Dad cheated on mom." For a couple seconds, Alex thought his brother would jump up and laugh, that it was just a silly joke. But that didn't happen. Phil swiped the tears away from his eyes and threw the pamphlet in the fireplace.

Alex lunged for it, but Phil caught him by the shirt collar. "NO! You shouldn't read that!" Alex was shocked. Phil almost never yelled at him.

"Then tell me what happened," Alex screamed, hot tears starting to stain his cheeks. "Why would he do that to mom?" Hot shame burned Alex. Never had he been so embarrassed to be his father's son.

Phil looked sick and angry as he watched the pamphlet burn. "I don't know, okay?! I don't know!" It was plain to Alex that Phil was _destroyed_. He'd wanted nothing more to be like his father, and there was no one more obsessed with the family's honor than Phil. It seemed to Alex that Phil was barely holding himself together.

Alex grabbed his brother and cried into his jacket. "He's gonna embarrass mom!" Phil didn't seem to mind, he just held him tight.

"I don't think he thought of it that way," Philip muttered, as a couple of tears slipped down his cheeks too. "I don't think he thought of that at all."

 _Eliza Hamilton_

"Betsey darling, I'm home!" Eliza's stomach curdled as her husband walked in with his briefcase in one hand and a few letters in the other. Her sons, James and John, immediately swarmed their father with hugs and excited questions. Angie, her sensible daughter who always seemed to know when something was wrong, stayed at the dinner table with a worried expression.

Eliza took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry, for the sake of her children. She held tight to baby William, cradled safely in her arms. "Good evening, Alexander." Her voice was so chilly it sounded as if she was made of frost. Alexander noticed right away, especially when he moved to greet Angelica and she promptly moved away from him.

"Shall we have dinner then?" And the five Hamiltons plus Angelica took their seats at the dinner table. Alexander sat at the head, Angelica on his left, Eliza on his right, and the children evenly distributed on either side. Eliza quietly asked Angelica to say grace, and then they tucked into their meal, Eliza setting baby William in a small crib by the table.

Angelica calmly took a sip of her wine, but her eyes were murderous. "How was work, Alexander?" The three adults at the table became very aware of the crackling tension, not realizing that Angie had put her fork down and started wringing her dress again. James and John didn't seem to notice.

"Fine, thank you," he smiled as he began cutting into the roast chicken, his hands trembling slightly. "Nothing that would interest anyone here." Eliza clenched her wineglass so tightly she wondered if it would shatter. There was that debonair smile at Angelica, the way he looked at Eliza after spending a night between their sheets. Eliza knew that smile so well. She had foolishly believed it was meant for her and only her.

Not for some girl named Maria.

Not for her sister, Angelica.

Not for every woman in New York's society.

The rest of dinner was uneventful and very awkward for everyone who understood what was happening. James cleared the table, then was sent up to his shared bedroom with John. Instead of her usual piano playing, Angie went to bed as well. That left the Schuyler sisters and Alexander alone in the dining room, a palpable chill in the summer air.

Was it her imagination, or was her usually bold husband cowering beneath the stares of her and her sister? Eliza's stomach tied itself in knots as her heart swelled with sorrow. She couldn't even stand to see him.

"I am going to bed." She turned to walk out of the dining room, feeling tears starting to gather in her eyes as she grabbed the baby. Angelica was going to yell at him, and she didn't want to watch.

"I'll join you in a few moments, Betsey," Alexander promised, and Eliza whirled around to face him with a pale yet steady face that contained both no emotion and also every emotion. Alexander took a step backward, unsure of what to do.

Her hands shook as she spoke, and her heart began to shatter. It was all she could do to keep from collapsing. "You may sleep in your office, Mr. Hamilton." And she marched down the hall to her bedroom, hot tears blurring her vision, locking the door before collapsing on the bed.

 _Angelica Church_

Angelica moved to the parlor, Alexander trailing behind her, an ever-present shadow. Normally she would've been charmed. She closed the door leading to the dining room behind them and turned to face Alexander. The pamphlet was on the coffee table. He pretended not to notice.

"Angelica." His tender tone might've melted her heart a week ago, but things had become very different as he reached to kiss her hand. "Thank you understand what I'm struggling here to do." In that moment, the rage she felt could've leveled the city of New York, and she entertained the idea of smashing a lamp over his head. The only thing that stopped her was the fact that Eliza was very fond of that lamp.

"I'm not here for you," she spat, yanking her hand out of his grasp as if his very touch was poisonous, rage pouring through her very veins. Alex took a step back as Angelica regarded him with fierce contempt.

"Angelica, please give me a moment to explain myself." Never had she seen Alexander so nervous…except on his wedding day. The very thought sent her temper flaring.

Unlike her sister, Angelica's face was bright red and her hands were steady. "I begged you to take a break. You refused to." She could easily wring his neck. She settled for wringing the front of her dress for a moment.

Alexander's face was pained, as if he'd swallowed tea that was too hot. "Angelica, I-"

"A million years ago, she told me you were hers." Angelica felt strength surging through her along with things she'd been holding back since the winter of 1780, when Eliza begged her to be the maid of honor. "And I stood by in a loveless marriage in London, living only to read your letters."

She paused for the moment to laugh a little, a high cold sound that signaled trouble to come. Her heart started breaking apart. "And I look at you and think, "God what've we done with our lives and what did it get us?"."

"Do you know why I stood by, Hamilton?" Angelica waited to see if the normally fast-talking Alexander would be foolish enough to respond as tears started to flow down her face. He was not. "Because I love my sister more than _anything_ in this life and I will choose her happiness over mine. Every. Single. Time!" There was a kind of relief in finally being able to say what she'd wanted to say for years.

"Angelica, please. If I could just-" Angelica wasn't a fool. Alexander was trying to do what he did best: talk his way out. And she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"I hope you're satisfied, _Alexander_ ," she snarled, and his name left a sour taste in her mouth. She was a mess, tears had begun to smear her makeup and drip onto the front of her dress, but she didn't care at all. "Goodnight."

She turned to leave, but Alexander desperately grabbed her hand. "Please, Angelica-" Without a single moment of hesitation she wrenched her hand free and struck him in the face. The sound rang through the parlor as Alexander stumbled backwards, shock written plainly across his handsome face. For a few precious seconds, neither of them knew what to make of it.

" _Goodnight_ , Alexander Hamilton!" And she flung the door open and stalked out into the street, tears pouring down her flushed face. Alexander called her name one last time. She clenched her fists and did not dare to look back at him as her heart cracked in two.

 _Alexander Hamilton_

His cheek stung as he plopped down on the parlor sofa, worn out from the day's proceedings. All day he'd put up with the taunts at work as he'd desperately tried to explain that he'd done it to save his political career. His world had been shattered by none other than himself.

"Dad…are…you okay?" Angie padded quietly into the parlor, a worried light in her eyes. Alexander utterly adored

He straightened up and tried to put on a smile for his daughter. "Yeah it's…it's been a long day."

Angie nodded, but she did not believe him. That much was obvious. "Is _mom_ okay?" A pain began to grow in Alexander's chest, a knife cutting to his very heart.

"Yes, Angie. Your mother is just very tired." Angie nodded and walked back upstairs, still not believing him. A few minutes later, after rallying all the strength he could muster, he slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

He rapped softly on the door but knocked much faster when he smelled smoke. "Eliza, dearest, is everything alright in there?" Tendrils of smoke crept underneath the door, and he knocked with a greater sense of urgency.

"Everything is perfectly alright, Alexander!" His heart ached at the sound of her hollow voice choked by tears. It nearly brought him to his knees.

He tried to peer through the keyhole but it was stuffed with cloth. "Betsey, my love…may I please join you?" A grim silence followed, the suspense nearly killing Alexander.

He'd never heard Eliza so upset with him. The hollow feeling in his chest multiplied exponentially. "There are blankets and a pillow in your office. Goodnight." He had been dismissed out of hand by his beloved wife. He started to say something but instead sank to his knees, overcome by sorrow and shame.

His poor, darling Eliza, who'd never done anything to hurt him, who'd given him nothing but support every day of their marriage. She'd stayed by his side through it all. Alexander knew for certain he'd just lost her. He'd cast out his darling Betsey.

For once, he'd written words that he wished could be taken back.

 _Maria Reynolds_

"Slut." The word had begun to follow her around all day since Mr. Hamilton had published that damned pamphlet. As she got closer to her apartment, more people recognized her and began to taunt and jeer at her from afar. She tried not to cry.

"I heard _she's_ Mr. Hamilton's whore." A girl Maria had spoken to once or twice made no effort to hide her biting comment to a gentleman. Maria's face flushed and she walked with a much faster step. Just one block left. Just one block left. Finally, after wading through a sea of cruel taunts, she reached her apartment.

The door was opened by none other than her husband, who was obviously drunk. "Get inside, you dirty harlot!" With rough hands he grabbed her arm and flung her inside, slamming the door shut and whirling to face her.

Cold fear shot to Maria's very core. Taunts and jeers, she could take head on. But her husband? Maria's only hope was to stay silent and submissive.

He took a swig from a bottle and narrowed his eyes at her. "You've heard the news?" Maria nodded, shrinking into their ratty old parlor couch, trying to be as agreeable as possible.

"I suppose you won't be hearing from good old Alexander," he jeered, dropping the now empty bottle. It shattered into millions of pieces. "Too bad, I could use a hundred dollars." Maria stared at the shards. To her husband, she was an empty bottle: used up and no longer worth keeping. The thought didn't tear her up inside like it used to.

James grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off the sofa. She knew better than to cry out. "Clean this up!" As James lounged on the couch, Maria got on her hands and knees to pick up the glass. Almost every shard left a small cut on her hands. She knew better than to complain and continued picking up the glass until her hands were shredded. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she threw the glass outside with the garbage and washed the blood off her hands.

"I'll be back tomorrow," James barked, and the door slammed shut. Maria relaxed and straightened up like a flower in the midday sun. Everything was so much easier when James left, even if it was to visit another woman's bed. Pulling out a loose floorboard in the kitchen, she sifted through Alexander's letters with bloody hands.

Maria started to cry as guilt threatened to destroy her. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hamilton. I'm so sorry." Her tears splattered onto the envelopes as she wept on the floor of her kitchen. How she missed him so. He was kind to her. He was soft and gentle, whereas James was coarse and mean.

But Maria knew in her heart that no man really loved her. Not her brutish husband, not her forbidden lover, not any man in the whole United States. She was a bottle of wine: used for pleasure for a while, but eventually emptied and then tossed aside. It had always been that way. It wasn't fair, but it was how things were.

There was a copy of the pamphlet on the kitchen table.

Not caring about the consequences, she burned it in the stove.

"Oh, Mr. Hamilton, why must you write such terrible things?"


End file.
